


Block Party

by tlbattle



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Gen, Modern Thedas, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-12-31 07:26:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12127482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tlbattle/pseuds/tlbattle
Summary: Varric's vision for the renovated Hightown Pub includes hiring a new chef - the so-called Herald of Andraste from a prestigious culinary school in Ostwick.Only, she isn't "the Herald" to Cullen - she's Alhari Trevelyan, the most obnoxious petty criminal he'd ever had the misfortune of meeting during his days on Kirkwall's police force. By the Maker, he's amazed she even made it into Haven withherrap sheet.But when a mysterious corporation starts to buy the land around Haven, closing in on the small town, the proprietors and patrons of High Street are going to have to band together to keep their community intact - whether they like each other or not.--Modern!AU with lots of awkward interactions, softball games, unresolved tension, and a sloooow burn!





	1. Chapter 1

To be honest, Cullen wasn’t terribly good at math.

He was fine at it, sure, but mathematics hadn’t been his strong suit back on the force, and he still had a few challenging moments when attempting to figure tips at restaurants. But with a trusty calculator and an uncanny ability to remember formulas after seeing them once, Cullen was a stellar accountant.

And so he knew that Varric royally _fucked_ this budget.

“Is this one of your jokes I don’t get?” said Cullen sarcastically, walking out of his back office and into the bar’s front room. He slid the sheaf of papers over to the dwarf, who sat casually at the bar with a (no doubt free) pint.

Varric glanced at the ledger of numbers, flipped through it once and replied, “Ah, nope, looks like the new budget there, Curly.”

Cullen blinked and tutted. “And _where_ are we getting the capital for all these additions?” He snatched the sheaf of papers back from the man, reading from the list randomly: “Marketing costs - _five thousand gold._ Branding - _three thousand gold_ . New kitchenware and equipment - _one hundred thousand gold!_ ” He threw up his hands in a huff.

“Don’t forget new insurance and the increased wages for kitchen staff,” said Varric with a smirk. He sipped his ale.

Cullen’s mouth had stretched into a thin line. He turned the pages in his hand, finding the new wage bracket for the kitchen staff. His eyes widened, shocked. “What!” he said aloud. “Why is Hawke demanding so much more now?"

“The new cook, not Waffles,” Varric corrected smoothly. “Ah, excuse me - new _head_ _chef_ , not _cook_.”

“Have you not told him, Varric?” a harshly accented voice floated from behind the bar. Cassandra had been wiping the wooden surface clean with a damp cloth, but now stood with arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “He is our _accountant_ , I would have assumed he’d be the _first_ to know.”

“I hadn’t gotten around to it!” Varric defended. He turned back to the sullen Cullen. “Alright, listen Curly - we’re revamping the entire bar. New chef, new decor, new _everything._ Really class this place up, bring in more classy clientele."

He grinned, showing off a classic, toothy smile. Cullen did not grin back.

“What?” managed Cullen. His eyes shifted from Cassandra back to the dwarf. “What do you mean, _‘revamping’_?”

He gazed about the bar, almost expecting his question to be answered by the stools and tables themselves. The dingy bar was small and cramped, a proper hole-in-the-wall, complete with ancient dartboards and tattered pool tables. The only lights in the room were the ones above the bar itself, illuminating the dusty bottles of liquor in a sickly green but not much else. The few regulars they had sat in the darkest corners, sitting solemnly with their drinks despite it being three in the afternoon on a Tuesday.

The place was as seedy as dives come.

Okay, he could see what Varric meant by ‘revamping.’

He pulled the stool next to Varric out and sat down heavily. “How. . . are we affording this?” said Cullen in disbelief.

“You let me worry about that,” Varric replied, clapping the man on the shoulder. Cassandra wordlessly placed a light ale in front of the accountant.

Cullen took a small sip of his brew and thanked her. He paused, his brow furrowing. “A new chef? What’s happened to Hawke?”

Varric chuckled, then sighed. “He’s heading out on his big world trip,” he explained. “Traveling all across Thedas, maybe visiting his brother. Been planning it for ages and decided this was probably the best time to go for it.”

“It is not the end of the world, Cullen,” said Cassandra, joining the pair in the middle of the bar after closing out one of their patrons. “And it will be good for business - perhaps more students will come around, other than the Chargers.”

Cullen nodded, the waves of surprise still pulsing through him. He took another sip of his beer. “Well when does this all start, then? Renovations? I guess, gutting out everything?”

He glanced around again, attempting to commit everything to memory. It was a dive bar and by no means a classy establishment. But it was familiar and it had _character_.

“Glad you asked, Curly,” said Varric, pulling out a small notebook from his jacket. He opened it, flipping to a bookmarked page. Cullen turned his attention to the incredibly detailed floorplan and timeline, squinting to see Varric’s impossibly small descriptions in the diagram.

“An outdoor space? An _upstairs?_ ” he said, surprised all over again. “Maker, Varric, this is going to cost a _fortune_.”

Varric chuckled again, closing the notebook. “Yes, yes it will,” he agreed. “But at least I have my accountant to help me out!”

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

. . .

By the time Cullen arrived home, he was exhausted.

The entire rest of the afternoon had been number crunching with Varric’s new budget, attempting to put enough revenue into the most necessary aspects of his renovations plan while making sure other parts didn’t go completely bankrupt. They still needed to keep the lights on, obviously.

He spent two hours on the phone with the local contracting company, the Grey Wardens, figuring out how much the overhaul would actually _cost_. At least Blackwall, their head contractor, was competent and straight to the point - Cullen respected that.

“There are definitely aspects of a renovation that we can’t skip,” the gruff man had explained earlier. “Plumbing, electricity, infrastructure: you don’t want these things exploding in the middle of opening night.”

The final estimate wasn’t as cringeworthy as Cullen had been expecting, which put him in a better mood by the end of the evening. He shouldered his bag, turning out the lights in the back office.

Cassandra was the only soul in the front room, wiping down a few tables and flipping chairs and stools onto them.

“Need help?” asked Cullen. He was already holding a chair, turning it upside down and fitting it back onto a nearby table.

The Nevarran glanced at him and tutted. “You look horrible,” she said matter-of-factly, smacking away his hand from another chair. “Go home. Get some rest.”

When Cassandra said _that_ , it sounded less like a request and more of an order. The air of authority on that woman.

“Are you sure?” he said one last time. “I could mop up for you.”

" _Cullen,_ ” warned Cassandra. “You’ve done too much today. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Ah yes, tomorrow - another swarm of incoming students. Can’t wait,” he said, exasperated. Before Cassandra could tut or slap his hand again, Cullen thanked her for the beer earlier and headed towards the door. He waved bye to her as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, listening to her last bark: “And text me when you get home!”

Thankfully, Cullen’s apartment building wasn’t far from the Hightown Pub. He pulled into the shared parking lot ten minutes later, noticing a large moving van in one of the guest sports. He could only think of one vacant apartment in the building, the flat right next to his: 511B.

Well. Having a new face around the building might be good.

Cullen dragged himself out of his car, leaving the safety of the vehicle’s A/C. It was the tail end of summer and the humidity made the air heavy, as if it was constantly about to rain. By the time Cullen had walked into lobby and made it up the fifth flight of stairs (he never took the elevator), his shirt was sticking to him, front and back.

He rounded the corner into the hallway and had his suspicions confirmed - the door to 511B was open, a few moving boxes cluttering the entrance. He peeked inside the apartment as he passed to his own, spotting a bin of shoes and a large green rucksack in the middle of the floor. A comfy-looking couch dominated the living room, next to a weathered coffee table; a black bike leaned against another wall, sleek and sporty; then just piles and piles and _piles_ of books.

Cullen heard a toilet flush somewhere and jumped from the noise, realizing he had been lingering in the doorway. He quickly moved to the entrance of his own apartment, letting himself in quietly and shutting the door behind him.

He could hear his new neighbor next door, shuffling boxes and clinking glass together as they unpacked. He sighed again, undoing the buttons on his shirt and heading towards the shower.

He’ll worry about being a welcoming part of the community tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

It was noon when Cullen’s alarm clock went off for the fourteenth time.

Usually, he would have awoken at the first alarm, dragged himself out of bed, and put the kettle on. 

But this morning, he lay awake after the first alarm, his body craving lyrium. His mouth was dry and his throat parched, but inexplicably he was wracked with a cold sweat, shivering despite the humid heat of Haven. He stayed in bed, letting the rolling waves of withdrawal crash into him again and again.

It had been _years_ since he last used, but these spells still haunted him, still made him immobile for hours, waiting for the nausea to pass.

The blaring alarm was interrupted by another sound coming from the smartphone, a series of steady vibrations: someone was calling him. 

Clearing his throat and gathering some energy, Cullen swiped the screen and answered.

“Where are you?” a lilting, accented voice floated through the receiver. “Josie and I are at the Pub and Cassandra says you haven’t been in _all day_ and Varric hasn’t seen you either - ”

“Leliana,” interrupted Cullen. Maker, his voice sounded _horrible_. He tried to swallow, leveling out his growls to pass as actual words. “Leliana,” he said again, softer. “I’m fine, I’m at home.”

Her voice dropped to a low whisper next. “Are you alright? Truly? How are you feeling?” she asked seriously. He could hear Cassandra’s voice in the background, telling the café owner to leave him alone.

“I’m okay,” Cullen reassured the worried woman. He sat up in bed, head pounding. “I’ll be in soon, I promise.”

“Cullen.” This time it was Cassandra, who had most likely snatched the phone from Leliana. “Do not rush in, come whenever you can,” she said to him. A light pause followed, perhaps even some hesitation. “We will see you later."

With that, she ended the call.

Cullen blinked a few times, his eyelids feeling like sandpaper. He tossed the phone onto his tangled sheets, summoning the last bit of his strength to pull himself out of bed. He stood, his bones heavy.

_It will pass. It always does._

He moved to his kitchen slowly, reaching the sink and pouring himself a glass of water. He gulped it down, letting the cool liquid hit his empty stomach. He poured a second glass and sipped more carefully this time.

The fogginess that had descended upon his mind was beginning to lift and he took a few deep breaths to steady himself.

The night hadn’t been kind to him, plagued with nightmares and horrid memories. He had tried to push them out of his head, tried to push the blood and screams from his eyes and ears - but it seemed the more he fought against the spectres of his past, the stronger they became. Eventually he gave up on sleep altogether - and then awoke several hours later, wracked with lyrium cravings.

His hand shook as he raised the glass to his mouth again, then almost smashed into the sink when he heard the first _thump_ of incredibly loud music that started up next door.

Electric guitar riffs wailed through the thin walls, drumbeats booming -  It felt as if the entire _building_ was shaking from his new neighbor’s racket.

He marched to their shared wall in his living room and banged on it. “ _Hey!”_ he yelled through the partition. “Quiet down over there!” When after a minute the music hadn’t quelled, he banged a few more times with his fist.

The music stopped with a harsh halt.

 _Thank the Maker_.

He slumped onto his couch, the burst of energy leaving him even more exhausted than before.

Then, suddenly, a woman’s voice shouted back through the wall: _“_ What are you, a _cop?_ ”

“ _Ex-cop,"_ he murmured. Then, to the disembodied, _rude_ neighbor: “Just keep it quiet over there!”

Probably out of sheer spite, the music started up again - did she - did she turn it _up?_

Cullen let loose a half-suppressed groan and he _swore_ he heard someone laugh next door.

. . .

“You look horrible,” Leliana said to him as he arrived to the Hightown Pub.

He sighed, putting his bag down on a spare table. “Why does everyone keep telling me that?” he muttered. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, the scent of lavender and white lilies floating about her. “Good morning, Leliana.”

“Good _afternoon_ ,” Josephine corrected nearby. “You’ve slept through the _morning_.” She smiled at him, her expression softer after the momentary chiding.

“Nice to see you too, Josie,” he replied. He spotted Cassandra in the doorway of the back room, chatting to someone inside. “Is Varric here?”

He unzipped his bag and pulled out the notes he had made for the budget, a thick folder of papers and plans and replanned figures. The last thing he needed to talk to Varric about was the kitchen renovation.

“I haven’t seen him, no,” said Josephine, crossing over to peer at the papers in his hand. “Are you coming today, Cullen?”

“To what?” he asked, looking up from his reports.

Leliana and Josephine were silent and glanced at one another. “Surely you’ve heard - “ Josephine started.

“Look at how we’re _dressed_ ,” Leliana interrupted, the smirk evident in her voice. She pointed at Josephine’s shirt, then her own. He looked down, realizing they were wearing matching jerseys - not only that, they both sported baseball caps and athletic shorts, high knee socks tucked into cleats.

“Wait - what - “

“Our softball game,” Cassandra said, walking out of the back room to join them. She too sported a jersey, the light purple and gold out of place in the shoddy Hightown Pub. “We’re playing the Rebels tonight.”

“I. . .” started Cullen, “Completely forgot. I’m sorry, all, I think I might have to miss it. I have to get these to Varric tonight - “

He couldn’t finish his sentence, his heart stopping as well as his mouth.

Another person had emerged from the back room, the one Cassandra had been speaking with earlier, evidently. The mane of her dark hair had been shaved on the sides, tattoos plastered up and down her tanned arms; her freckled face and piercing blue eyes burned through him. She might have been called _pretty_ at some point, but he couldn’t quite tell if that was true right now - her features were contorted by the sharp sneer on her face.

The shock trickled through them both.

Alhari Trevelyan narrowed her eyes. “You still a cop?”

It took Cullen a moment to respond, but still he could only shake his head.

Then he immediately ducked as a boot came flying towards him.

_“Hey - !”_

“You!” she cried. “ _YOU!_ ” She stomped toward him with one shoe on, thick dark hair whipping behind her. She poked him in the chest, hard. “What are _you_ doing here! Shouldn’t you be somewhere _arresting_ innocent people? _Or do you have a better past time now?_ ”

“Me?!” he shouted in return, anger boiling in his throat. “What are _you_ doing here? Planning to rob us and our grandmothers all _blind?_ ”

Cassandra moved between the two, pushing them apart gently but firmly. “Excuse me, but - what is going on here?” she demanded.

_“He’s a dirty cop!”_

_“She’s a criminal!”_

Josephine put her hands up. “Hold on - Cullen, don’t tell me you’ve . . . _arrested_ this woman before?”

Trevelyan snorted, rolling her eyes so hard he half-expected. “ _Loads_ of times!” she barked. “And _none_ were for real reasons!”

“ _None?!_ ” yelled Cullen over Cassandra’s shoulder. _“Real reasons!?”_ His face had taken on a dangerously red hue. 

They began shouting at one another, pieces of accusations flying like daggers.

 _“Enough_.” Cassandra’s low growl had silenced the room. “You,” she said, pointing at Trevelyan. “Back office. _Now._ ”

The woman huffed, eyes aflame. She turned on her other heeled boot, mumbling and muttering obscenities as she hobbled into the room.

“Her! Here! In _Haven!_ ” shouted Cullen once Trevelyan had left, but Cassandra silenced him with a cold glare. He bit his lip, a plethora of his own obscenities waiting to spew forth.

Alhari Trevelyan was one of the worst troublemakers he had ever encountered in Kirkwall: a vandal with spray-paint-stained fingers; a burglar with several thousand gold in a sack that she had claimed _wasn’t hers_ ; public intoxication every time the Kirkwall Champions won a rugby match; but the worst of all was when he last saw her a decade ago, sitting in the back of his cruiser before kicking out the window and escaping into the city streets.

She was probably in Haven just to avoid _another_ warrant in Kirkwall!

 _“You_ ,” said Cassandra, poking him in the collarbone, bringing him back from his seething reverie. “You will go with Leliana and Josephine to the softball game. I will meet you all there after speaking with our new head chef.”

Cullen’s jaw dropped so suddenly it audibly _popped_. “ _Head chef?!”_

Leliana nodded, slipping her arm through Cullen’s. “Come on, watching us win will raise your spirits,” she said, patting his forearm.

Josephine hooked her arm enthusiastically through Cullen’s other one. “Come - I will show you my new bat!”

The pair pulled him towards the door. “Although, I’m not very good at swinging it yet.”


End file.
